


Silence

by zanarkand



Category: Digimon - All Media Types, Digimon Adventure Zero Two | Digimon Adventure 02
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Mildly Descriptive, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Aftermath, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 13:01:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7715782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanarkand/pseuds/zanarkand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He likes the dark. It feels safe. In the dark he can pretend. Pretend that everything is still fine, that he <i>looks</i> fine, and that nothing ever went terribly wrong that Thursday night.</p><p>In the dark, that Thursday night he can't quite remember does not exist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This was started around 2007/2008, though much of it was written later over the years. This was also inspired by the book _Speak_. If you haven't read it, I definitely recommend it, it's a really great read. However, while inspired by the book, I promise this isn't just _Speak_ with Digimon characters.
> 
> This fic also uses original characters I made up for Yamato's band in a different fic, back when practically nothing was known about them (okay, there's still not much known, and thanks to Tri it's moot anyways). They don't feature too much, so don't fret (:

It’s been three days.

Three days since he has become unable to speak, unable to utter a single word. Three days since his world shattered, shattered so irretrievably like splintered glass from a broken mirror. 

He feels frozen. 

No one notices. 

This isn't as unusual as it sounds, really. He isn't an outcast, and he has plenty of friends, but left to his own devices he is a bit of a loner by nature, and on those rare occasions when he wants nothing more than to shutter himself off away from the world, his friends are usually amenable to leave well enough alone for a few days. 

He spends the weekend holed up in his room. He doesn't go to school on Friday. Taichi phones, but he does not answer. Taichi knocks on his door, and he burrows deeper under the covers. 

His dad spends most of the weekend working, and comes home late each night. They've been having a rough time at the station lately. He doesn't know the details. He doesn't really care. 

His brother, upon briefly seeing him Friday, thinks he is sick. 

He had looked in the mirror, once, and it is easy to understand why Takeru thinks this. He is pale, paler than usual, and there are dark circles under his eyes. The little sleep he's had has been filled with nightmares. He looks as if he is about to fall apart at any moment. 

He doesn't know what to do. School is tomorrow. He has barely left his room all weekend, except for the times he's been to the bathroom to throw up. He also hasn't eaten all weekend, so after the first night it is mostly just dry heaving. 

He feels weak. His body can't seem to stop trembling. He thinks he's become paralysed. Paralysed with emotions he can't even begin to think about. 

He thinks about saying something, but words fail him. There really isn't anything to say. He can't quite remember what is wrong. 

His dad comes home a bit early Sunday night. He stays in his room, huddled up in his bed, all the lights in his room off. He likes the dark. It feels safe. In the dark he can pretend. Pretend that everything is still fine, that he _looks_ fine, and that nothing ever went terribly wrong that Thursday night. 

In the dark, that Thursday night he can't quite remember does not exist. 

His dad knocks on his door. "Yamato?" he says, and there is a hint of confusion and concern lacing his voice. 

He ignores the knock, and does not answer. He hears his dad crack open his door, but he is lying still and silent, eyes closed, as he has done most of the weekend. A ray of light from the hallway washes over his face as his dad opens the door wider, and he tries not to flinch and wants to scream. Light is reality. He does not want reality. 

"Yamato? Are you awake?" his dad asks softly, and still he does not answer. After a moment, the door shuts again, and he is left alone in the dark. 

He does not sleep. 

* * *

His dad leaves early Monday for work. Earlier than he would even need to get up for school. This time, his dad doesn't check on him. 

He lays there under the covers until the room begins to lighten as the sun comes up outside, shining its cheerful rays through his window. Soon he is supposed to be getting up and preparing for school. 

He considers it for a moment. Walking to his classroom like nothing had happened, sitting through classes and pretending to listen, having to fake normality with Taichi... The thought triggers his gag-reflex, and he jumps up and rushes for the bathroom. 

When the dry-heaves are over, his chest and throat are sore and his legs are shaking. He worries he's going to collapse. He can't go to school today. Something's still wrong. 

Somehow, he makes his way to the living room, where there are no windows and he can keep the lights off and sit in the darkness. He practically falls into the couch, and pulls off the blanket they keep folded over the back of it. He feels better hiding under blankets. He sits there for a long time and doesn't think about anything. 

At some point, the phone starts ringing. He turns his head towards it and stares. He doesn't answer it. It stops after ten rings. In his bedroom, his cell starts ringing. It's Taichi. He'd set a special ringtone so he'd always know right away when Taichi called. He knows it's too early for school to be over. Taichi must have managed to wrangle a bathroom trip out of one of the teachers. 

His phone stops. He closes his eyes and eventually falls into another nightmare. 

* * *

The sound of the lock turning wakes him up. He shakes off the remnants of the nightmare and opens his eyes to see his dad step through the front door. Is it already that late? 

"Yamato?" his dad asks in surprise. "What are you doing home?" 

He considers this question and what it means. His dad did not expect him to be home. Did he expect him to be over at Takeru's or Taichi's? Does he have a band practice he's forgotten about? Is it still early enough in the day that he should be at school? He has no clock in here, and with no windows in this room it's impossible to see whether there's still daylight out. 

After a few moments of silence, it becomes clear to his dad that he is not going to answer. "Are you sick? Why aren't you in school?" he demands, and there is another mixture of concern and confusion in his voice. 

Ah. It is still early then. He wants to counter with, _Why aren't you at work?_ but even though he opens his mouth, the words don't come. He is still frozen. He says nothing. 

His dad comes over to him and puts the back of his hand against his forehead. He knows that he does not have a fever, that he will not feel warm, but for whatever reason, perhaps because it is easier than getting angry at him, his dad decides he is sick anyway. 

Taichi stops by after school. He knocks on the door and his dad answers it. He tells Taichi that Yamato is sick. Taichi looks past his dad to where he is lying silent on the couch, a lump in the dark still hiding under the covers and watching this exchange because it does not require thinking. He wants Taichi to go away, to shut the door against the intrusion of light from the hallway and the intrusion of privacy he would create by bombarding him with questions, were his dad to allow Taichi in. 

Taichi tells his dad that he has brought Yamato's schoolwork, and if he could just leave it for him, then he would be on his way. His dad agrees, and Taichi kneels down and digs out a pile of books and papers from his bag and hands them over. He leans into the doorway a bit and says, "Hope you feel better, Yamato." Then Taichi tells his dad that he will bring by Yamato's school work every day while he is sick, if it's okay. 

His dad says it's fine. He wants to disagree, but the words stick in his throat. His dad closes the door, and Taichi is gone. So is the light. He shudders, ever so slightly. 

His dad comes over to him and feels his forehead again. He's not sure why, he didn't have a fever earlier and he doesn't know why his dad would think that would change. He's not sick. 

He can't tell whether his dad is satisfied or not with what he finds, but eventually he takes his hand away and goes over to the chair in the corner and sinks down into it, grabbing the remote. He turns on a lamp and then clicks on the TV, already tuned in to a news station. He always wonders why his dad doesn't get sick of the TV, working at the TV station all the time, but he spends at least two hours a day watching television if he gets home early enough. 

He doesn't really care about the TV, though. It is the lamp he is bothered by, and he stares at it and wonders if willpower is enough to make it turn off. It is very bright, and has mysteriously lacked a lampshade ever since Taichi came round one night three months ago. He still swears up and down that he doesn't know what happened to it. 

The reporter drones on in the background, and he doesn't listen to a word of it, still focused on the lamp. Then one word filters in and catches his attention. He flinches, and his mind unfreezes. He jumps up and rushes to the bathroom again for another round of dry-heaving, startling his dad. He remembers. The events of Thursday become a solid reality again, the darkness doing nothing to chase them away and make them pretend. 

On Tuesday he goes to school.


	2. Part One

Taichi is talking to him. He tries to concentrate, tries to listen to what it is Taichi is saying. He looks at Taichi's face and watches his mouth move, forming words that form sentences that form paragraphs, but the only noise he hears is the faint rush of blood pounding through his ears.

He frowns, and stares more intently, thinking he'll better be able to hear. He isn't sure why he is at school today. Something is wrong, and he knows what it is, he knows, _really_ , but somehow he can't quite remember, all the same. 

"Are you listening?" Taichi says, and he blinks. The rush of blood is gone. He remembers again. He stares at his best friend. 

He thinks over that phrase in his mind. He has never really given it much thought before. His best friend. Taichi is his best friend. It was not ever an outcome he had predicted when he had first got stuck with the noisy, boisterous kid in a strange world not his own, but somehow their friendship had developed, and stuck. He can't picture his life anymore without Taichi right there in it beside him. He and Taichi have been through a lot, have learned so much about each other in the years since they first met, have trusted each other with secrets they will never tell anyone else, not even their siblings. It has made them close. Best friends. 

He wonders if he can trust Taichi with this secret, too, as he has trusted all of his awful other secrets. He offers a small smile to Taichi, who has apparently been trying to get his attention all of this time. "You really are my best friend, you know?" he says, and his voice is a bit soft and hoarse from not having spoken in four and a half days. And if the only thing he gets in return is a bewildered look and a half-mocking hand against his forehead to check for a possible lingering fever, then it is no small wonder, really. 

He leaves his confused friend standing in the middle of the sidewalk and continues on his way home. 

* * *

"Is there something wrong?" 

It is later in the afternoon, and he had known that Taichi would not leave it alone for long, but the question is still unexpected, cutting unevenly across the silence of the room. He swallows, and looks at his friend. He wants to tell Taichi, knows that Taichi would not judge him, and would help him however best he could. "No," he says quietly. 

Taichi looks at him, uneasy, abandoning all pretense of the homework that had been his excuse to get past Mr. Ishida's defenses. "It's just, you're so quiet lately, and you don't look very well..." 

In contrast, he clings more stubbornly to his language textbook, using it as a shield to block Taichi's concern. He reads the next question in the review very carefully, and then neatly prints a line of characters on his paper. He can feel Taichi watching him. "I'm fine," he says, even though he is not fine at all. "I was sick," he adds, and at least this one is partial truth, for he _had_ thrown up most of the weekend. 

"You've been sick before, but you've never been this quiet," Taichi points out. "You've barely said anything all day, and when you have it's been in response to someone else. I'm just—" 

"I'm _fine_ ," he says, and his voice rises slightly, insistently, and it's the first hint of real emotion he's shown since Thursday. 

Taichi stares at him, holds up his hands, placating. "Alright, alright, you're fine," he says, and he knows that his friend is trying to be soothing, even though the words come out a bit condescending. "It's just—you can talk to me, you know? If there's something wrong—and I'm not saying there is!" he adds hastily, shifting nervously on the bed. "But if there ever were, I won't judge you or anything, I won't laugh at you or go out and tell everybody or... whatever." 

He smiles, faintly. "I know, Taichi. Thanks. But I really am fine." He stares at the wrinkled bed covers bunched up under Taichi's feet, just for a moment, and has a brief flash of another set of covers, similarly bunched up underneath him. He feels suddenly sick and swallows, and turns back to his homework, hoping the feeling will pass. 

They spend the rest of the afternoon doing their homework in silence. When Taichi leaves, he gives Yamato a sad sort of smile and a softly spoken bye, and Yamato wonders if keeping his silence is worth it. 

* * *

He dreams of it in the night. 

The live, loud and exhilarating, one adrenaline rush after another. The emotional high afterwards, all the excited energy and the band feeding off of each other with the joy of a job well done. 

The afterparty. 

Drinking and laughing with his bandmates and the fans. Stumbling into the bedroom, just trying to find the bathroom. Hearing the door lock behind him, realising he wasn't alone. Being pinned down on the bed, unable to break free, staring up at the bright lights on the ceiling. Pretending it wasn't real, that it wasn't happening. 

He wakes up gasping, a scream lodged in his throat, refusing to be let loose, much the same way it had that Thursday night. He doesn't sleep again for the rest of the night. 

* * *

On Wednesday he opens his mouth on three separate occasions to tell Taichi. Somehow the words never come. Taichi doesn't notice. 

Taichi does notice him not eating at lunch for the second day in a row, and he gives Yamato a concerned frown. He wants Taichi to think he's fine, so he eats a bit of the food Taichi offers him, and then promptly goes and throws it back up in the bathroom afterwards. Anything hitting his throat reminds him of Thursday, and the things that had been in his mouth then... Remembering it makes him throw up again. 

He hears the door to the boy's restroom open then, and Taichi's voice echoes off the tile walls. "Yamato? You okay in here?" 

He stands up, flushing the toilet and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "I'm fine," he says, opening the stall door. He's not fine, and he opens his mouth to tell Taichi this, but once again the words get stuck. So he remains silent, and follows Taichi back to their classroom. 

* * *

He dreams again, and when he wakes up choking he looks at the clock. It glares 12:22 at him in annoying red. 

It's Thursday. 

* * *

He goes to school, even though he wants to stay home and hide. He can't believe it's been a week already. The day passes by him in a blur. Koushiro, Sora, and his bandmates have started asking after him along with Taichi, finally noticing that something's off with him. 

He brushes them off with the same "I'm fine" that he gives Taichi. 

His dad comes home from work that night, but he doesn't go for his TV like he normally does. Instead he calls Yamato into the living room, asking him to have a seat on the couch. He does so hesitantly, staring uncomfortably at the lamp. He still doesn't like particularly bright lights. 

He hears his dad shifting about in his chair, and looks over. His dad looks uncomfortable and unsure, and Yamato knows that whatever his dad wants to talk about, it's nothing good. 

His dad finally manages to blurt something out. "Alright Yamato, what's going on with you?" 

He definitely does not want to have this conversation. He looks back at the lamp. He can't picture telling his dad about that Thursday night. He can't even manage to tell Taichi yet, even though he _wants_ to. He's nowhere near ready for his dad to know. He doesn't know what to say. 

His dad is looking at him, waiting for an answer. "Nothing's going on," he finally says, knowing how stupid of an answer that is. 

Indeed, his dad agrees with him. "I'm not stupid, Yamato," he says quietly. "You hid in your room all last weekend, skipped two days of school despite not being physically ill, you haven't eaten in a week from what I can tell, you probably haven't slept in that long either, and you sit in the darkness far more than is healthy." 

"I'm fine," he insists, somewhat feebly. He can't tell his dad. He just can't. 

"You're not," his dad disagrees. "You're not fine, and I don't think you have been for a week now. I've left you alone, hoping you'd work out whatever was going on, talk to somebody, but so far you're not improving, and you can't continue going on this way. You need to eat and sleep, and you need to tell someone whatever is bothering you." 

His dad is worried. 

He doesn't really know how to reassure him. His dad has every right to be worried. It makes him feel guilty, but it doesn't change anything. The thought of trying to tell his dad makes him feel dizzy and sick. 

"I'm fine," he repeats, and his dad just sighs and stares at him with sad eyes. 

"Talk to someone soon," is all he says. "And please eat something tonight." 

* * *

He tries, he really does. But the creamy soup is too warm and thick, and reminds him too much of what else had gone down his throat recently. 

He throws it back up in the kitchen sink. 

He can practically hear his dad's worried silence from the next room. 

* * *

Another week passes. He still doesn't tell anyone, and he still dreams of it every night. He still hasn't managed to eat anything, either. It's definitely taking a toll on his body, and he's lost weight. 

Taichi continuously stares at him with worried eyes, but he no longer asks what's wrong. He knows the only answer he'll get if he asks. 

His dad threatens to stick him in the hospital if he doesn't eat something by the week's end. 

Yamato doesn't know what to do about any of it. 

* * *

Thursday morning he eats a cracker, and doesn't throw it up. 

It's a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. 

* * *

Saturday morning he cuts himself. 

It isn't on purpose. He's mindlessly washing dishes in the kitchen, and grabs the silverware to put it away. His hand wraps around the sharp end of a knife before he even realises. 

The sting in his palm is the most he's felt in two weeks. He stares blankly at the little drops of blood welling up, and wonders. 

He doesn't put that knife away with the others. Instead, he slides it in his dresser drawer under a pile of his boxers. 

* * *

When he wakes up that night from yet another nightmare, choking on the phantom object in his mouth and crying the tears he couldn't that night two weeks ago, he remembers the knife. 

This time when he cuts himself, it's on purpose. 

* * *

"Are you ever going to tell someone what's wrong?" 

He looks up, briefly meeting Taichi's eyes across the room. "I don't know what you mean," he says, looking back down at his homework. He knows perfectly well what Taichi means. 

It's been a month now. A month of constant nightmares and weight loss and cutting himself. He's at least managing to eat now, but only just barely. Just enough to stay out of the hospital his dad's constantly threatening him with. 

His arms have become a patchwork medley of marks, old and new. He just wants to _feel_ , and to forget. 

No one's questioned his sudden affinity for long sleeves in the warm weather, but he's caught his dad staring at them more than once, as if he knows what's hidden underneath but is afraid to ask and have it confirmed. 

"I mean the fact that something's been wrong with you for weeks now, and you refuse to let anyone help you," Taichi says, and if that's a hint of bitterness seeping into his voice, well, Yamato can't really blame him. 

He tries. He really does. He _wants_ to tell Taichi, to have someone else know and help him escape the numb paralysation that's become his daily life. He wants it more than anything. He even manages a word: "I..." 

But he can't. 

"You what?" Taichi asks, but he can only shake his head. The other two words are a solid lump in his throat. 

He goes back to his homework, and after a moment Taichi sighs and does the same. 

* * *

He dreams that night, not of the afterparty, but of trying to tell Taichi. In his dream he's standing in Taichi's room, blood dripping down his legs and his arms, completely naked, shouting those three words over and over, but even though Taichi's there and looking directly at him, he doesn't hear him. He stumbles toward Taichi, hands reaching out, begging for his friend to help him, but Taichi only looks at him, shaking his head. "You're fine," he says, and Yamato can only cry. 

He wakes up crying, frantically whispering three words aloud to himself repeatedly, the words he so desperately wants Taichi to hear. "I'm not fine." 

He sits up in bed, trembling, and wraps his arms around his too-thin frame, rocking himself back and forth, distraught, wishing Taichi was there to comfort him. 

A light goes on in the hallway, and he shudders. "Yamato?" 

He stops whispering when he hears his dad's sleep-fogged voice, but he can't seem to stop crying or rocking himself. 

"Yamato?" his dad repeats, looking into his room. When he catches sight of the state Yamato's in, he sighs softly and comes in, shutting the door so they're both in darkness once more. It didn't take his dad long to catch onto his sudden aversion of bright lights, though he has yet to understand the reason. 

His dad sinks down onto the bed next to him, pulling him in close for a sideways hug, the only kind he tolerates anymore, as his dad quickly learned. 

"Tell me what's wrong?" his dad requests quietly, his voice a soothing rumble in the dark. 

He shakes his head, knowing his dad will feel the motion. 

"Why not?" 

"Can't," he whispers. 

"Why can't you?" 

"Just can't," he repeats, voice breaking slightly. 

"Can you tell anyone else?" 

He shakes his head again. Even though he wants to, he can't. 

He hears his dad sigh, and wishes he'd tried harder to be quiet. He doesn't want to hurt his dad. 

"Please try and tell someone soon," his dad says softly. "Before this ends up tearing you apart." 

* * *

He gets held back after school the next day. Taichi tries to wait for him, but he shakes his head and waves him on. 

He stands there silently, waiting while his teacher sizes him up. 

“Mr. Ishida, can you explain your poor attention in my class these last couple of weeks?” his teacher finally asks. 

“No, sir,” he replies softly. He tries to make the statement sound respectful. 

“Is it a problem with the curriculum? Are you having trouble understanding the concepts we’re going over? All of your previous grades have been exemplary.” 

“No, sir,” he repeats. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t find the class difficult. He just can’t concentrate anymore. He’s too caught up in trying to cope with what happened. 

His teacher studies him for another moment. “Your other teachers have reported similar issues with you lately. Are you having problems at home?” 

“No, sir.” He feels helpless. He can’t say what’s wrong. He can’t even think of a good excuse. “I’m sorry. I’ll try harder to pay attention.” 

His teacher gives him a firm look. “See that you do. If I don’t see improvement by next week, I’ll have to call in your father.” 

“Yes, sir.” He waits to be dismissed, and tries not to run out the door when he is. 

His arm itches. 

* * *

It’s always an immense satisfaction watching the blood slowly drip down the side of his arm. He likes to watch it spatter in tiny drops on to the pristine porcelain of the bathroom sink, beautiful contrasting red and white. 

It's mesmerising, and almost addicting. 

Eventually he bandages his arm up and cries. 

* * *

Takeru comes over on the weekend for the first time since it happened. He doesn’t announce it or ask beforehand, and Yamato is pretty sure he does it that way on purpose. He’s been putting off his brother for a month now. 

He doesn’t want to seem rude, so he doesn’t tell his brother to go away, even though that’s exactly what he wants. 

They sit in the kitchen, Takeru at the table while he pretends to be normal, scrambling around for something to feed his hungry, growing brother. 

He tries to ignore the rising urge to lunge desperately at the light switch and flip it off. The lights at school are bad enough, and stretch the limits of his tolerance daily. He tends to spend as little time as possible with the lights on at home. 

“Yamato?” 

He realises now that Takeru has been chatting away to him, and he hasn’t heard a word of it. He stares at his brother, not sure what to say. 

Takeru sighs. “You know, Taichi said you were in a bad way, but I didn’t realise it was this bad...” 

He looks away, annoyed that Taichi’s been talking about him, and to his brother of all people. “I’m fine.” It’s usually enough to get Taichi to shut up. 

Takeru isn’t Taichi, however, and it doesn’t deter him in the slightest. “If the things Taichi has been telling me are true, you’re hardly fine. You look horrible. Taichi says you never pay attention to anyone anymore, you hardly speak, and you spend a lot of time staring obsessively at lights. Even dad’s remarked how you hardly eat or sleep anymore. We’re not stupid. We know something’s wrong. Why can’t you tell one of us?” 

He wants to cry. His arm itches. His heart aches. He thinks he’s drowning. He’s desperately trying to hold his head above water, but keeps slipping under. 

“I’m fine.” 

He doesn’t know what else to say. He wants to tell Taichi. He’s tried, so many times. But no matter what, he never can. At this point, telling Takeru isn’t even a possibility. 

He can’t really blame his brother when he leaves without another word, slamming the door in anger behind him. 

But it’s easy to hate himself when all he feels is relief at his brother’s leaving. 

* * *

He dreams in the night again. He’s at the afterparty, in the guest room, lying alone in the bed. He’s bleeding, from a place he never even knew was possible. His mouth and lips are smeared with white. There’s vomit on the pillow next to him. The lights are shining down brightly. 

He isn’t crying. 

Takeru is, though. He’s in the doorway, staring in horror at his brother’s battered body. He’s talking through his sobs. “Why can’t you tell one of us? We’re not stupid.” He repeats it over and over until Yamato wants to put his hands over his ears and scream. 

Taichi’s there too, but he’s not looking at Yamato. Instead, he’s focused on Takeru, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, he’s fine,” he says scornfully. 

He stares at the both of them. He’s trembling. Everything aches, and burns, and stings. He feels something trickling out between his thighs. It fills him with shame, and he hates himself. 

“I’m not fine,” he says quietly, voice shaking. Neither of them seem to hear him. He repeats himself, slightly louder and slightly more desperate sounding. 

They aren’t listening to him. He says it again, and again, wanting them to hear, wanting them to know. He understands. He isn’t fine. He isn’t. 

Finally Taichi looks at him. But instead of reassurance, he just smiles. “Don’t be silly,” he says, and shakes his head. “Of course you’re fine.” 

“No,” he insists. There’s a lump in his throat. He can feel the blood drying. “I’m not fine.” 

He wakes up screaming it. 

It doesn’t take long for his dad to run into his room, and by then he’s crying. 

“I’m not fine,” he sobs, and his dad can only hold him tight. 

* * *

He once again finds it difficult to eat for the next few days. 

His dad notices, of course, but he doesn’t say anything. Just watches him with worried eyes, his silence saying more than words ever could. 

* * *

On Thursday the band wants to hold their first practice since the live. He listens to them making plans to meet in band room 3 after school, and knows he won’t be there. Thinking about anything related to the band makes him feel sick. 

He thinks that might actually be the worst thing about what happened to him. 

“You’re free to come too, right, Yamato?” Kenji suddenly asks, turning to him. 

He can only stare at them, not answering. It makes them glance at each other uneasily. He understands. They, too, know something is wrong, and are just as worried as his other friends. They’re also just as out of their depth, not knowing what is wrong or how to help him. 

He doesn’t want to quit the band. But right now, he has no clue how he can stay in it when just the thought of a practice makes him want to throw up. 

“Yamato?” 

He realises he actually is about to be sick. He hurriedly excuses himself, and promptly locks himself in a bathroom stall. 

When he is finished, he wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his blazer. He’s reminded of afterwards, hunched miserably over the toilet, shaking as he tried desperately to rid himself of everything that had been forced into him. 

Nyusumi had eventually found him that way, and mistaken it for a hangover. He hates Ny just a little bit for not realising what really happened that night. He knows it’s irrational. He feels it just the same, though. 

* * *

Another night, another nightmare. 

He wakes up choking again, but it’s quiet enough to not wake his dad. His tears are silent. 

He sits up in his bed, huddled up against the headboard, hugging himself tightly for a long time while he cries. 

He doesn’t know how to make that Thursday night go away. 

* * *

When he wakes up the next night, he doesn’t waste time with tears. His head is filled with too many bad images. Taichi telling him he’s fine, Takeru storming out, his bandmates staring at him, Ny helping him to the bed while he reassures him he’ll sleep it off and be fine in the morning. 

It doesn’t take him long to retrieve the knife from its hiding place. He replays that night in his head as he makes quick, sharp slashes on his inner thigh. 

Stumbling into Ny’s guest room, having had a bit too much to drink, just wanting a bathroom. Someone following him, locking the door. 

His confusion as he’s forced down onto the bed, a stranger climbing on top of him, pinning his wrists. The stranger is so much stronger, and he fights but he’s drunk and can’t get himself coordinated. 

The hand reaching down between his legs, groping him a bit before fumbling to undo his jeans. Fingers shoved into his mouth, forcing it open wide. He bites down, not liking it, but all that gets him is a hard blow to the head. 

He feels disoriented. 

Then... _something_ being shoved into his mouth. Something warm, and hard, and _big_. It fills his mouth, stretches it wide open, knocking against the back of his throat, and he gags. He feels like he’s choking on it. He can’t breathe. 

His hair is gripped tightly, and his head knocks repeatedly against the headboard as the stranger shoves rapidly in and out of his mouth, getting deep in his throat every time. He tries desperately to breathe through his nose. 

His hands are free now, but he’s in too much pain and confusion to even attempt to fight anymore. 

He continues to cut himself, remembering and hating. 

Blood trickles down his thigh. Suddenly he’s not in his own bedroom anymore. He’s back _there_ , and red and white are leaking out between his legs, trailing down his thighs and onto the clean bedsheets. 

He moans, feeling every bit of the pain and shame and horror. Knowing what’s just happened to him, but not believing it. 

This sort of thing doesn’t happen to boys.


	3. Part Two

* * *

It’s Saturday. Saturday means he can hide away in his room in the dark all day and not have to see his friends and family worry over him. Saturday means his dad works late, and he doesn’t have to force himself to eat or pretend that he’s fine. 

Saturday is safe. 

He boots up his computer and logs onto the internet, hesitating before typing three words into the search box. _I cut myself._

Unsurprisingly, the results are full of people panicking because they accidentally cut themselves and were too stupid to know how to take care of it. He frowns, and after a moment’s thought, modifies his query to _I cut myself on purpose._

He doesn’t even really know what exactly he’s looking for. He just knows he’s tired of feeling alone in this, and knows he isn’t ready to go to his friends or his dad. Online strangers seem like the next best idea. He wants to know that he’s not the only one crazy enough to hurt himself on purpose. 

This time, he gets results. Among the several sites that pop up, one word in particular sticks out: self-harm. 

He _isn’t_ alone in this. 

He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, and clicks on a link that’s titled _Why Do I Self-Harm?_

He spends an hour reading, learning how just not alone he is in his behaviour. He even finds a web board filled with people that cut themselves, just like he does. So many of them hurting, so many of them looking for a way to make the pain go away. All of them just looking for support and affirmation. 

He considers making a post of his own, but in the end he chickens out. He isn’t quite sure yet what he’d say. ‘Hi, I’m Yamato and I cut myself because I feel empty inside after being...’ 

The unfinished thought makes him flinch, even when it’s inside his own head. 

He jabs at the monitor, turning it off. He’s suddenly angry. He gets back into bed, pulling the covers over him. 

When his phone goes off with Taichi’s tone, he ignores it. 

* * *

Saturday night he wakes from yet another countless nightmare, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. He’s got the blade out and hovering over a cleaner patch of pale thigh when the web board he’d been on that afternoon flashes through his mind. 

One topic had been titled “Things to Do When You’re Trying to Stop.” 

As odd as it sounds, the thought of stopping hadn’t crossed his mind until he’d read that. 

It’s weird, but part of him likes it. He hates himself every time he slices up his skin, and he knows his dad or friends wouldn’t approve, but it helps, at least a little. The feelings don’t go away for long, but that instantaneous rush of relief he gets with the first cut is always amazing. 

It really is addicting. 

Ten minutes later he’s breathing heavy from anger and staring blankly at the large open gash in his thigh. There’s a small puddle of blood forming on his sheets. He'll have to figure out how to hide it from his dad. 

* * *

Sunday afternoon he navigates his way back to the web board. He spends awhile reading other peoples’ stories, all the while thinking about his own. 

Eventually he clicks on the create a new topic button. He stares at the white text box for awhile, not knowing what to say. He’s spent more than a month _not_ telling people that even thinking about telling strangers on the web makes him anxious. 

He doesn’t want to keep it a secret any longer. 

Eventually he starts typing. 

* * *

_Hi everyone. I am new here. I am 16 years old and from Japan, so my English may not be so great. I found this place yesterday and spent awhile reading... I feel that I can relate to many of you, and the things everyone writes._

_I started hurting myself about a month and half ago. It started out as an accident. But it made my numbness go away. And the bad feelings..._

_I thought I was alone. I thought I was the only person mental enough to hurt myself on purpose, and like it. But when I searched the web I found this board and realised I was not alone. Everyone here does it too._

_A bad thing happened two months ago. I do not want to talk about it here. I am not ready. I can not tell anyone in my life yet either, though I want to. I am just scared. I do not know why. My dad and my friends are worried a lot about me. I wish I could tell them, but I do not know how..._

_I have many lines all over my arms and legs, and even my stomach a bit. I never thought about stopping until I came here yesterday. I do not think I want to stop yet._

_That is it for now. I hope no one minds my posting._

* * *

He shuts the computer down once he posts and doesn’t touch it for three days. 

* * *

“You never returned my call,” Taichi says, jabbing him in the side with a finger. 

He looks at the hurt frown on Taichi’s face and the shadow of a bruise on his cheek and lies. “What call?” 

“I called you Saturday, on your cell. I left a voicemail when you didn’t pick up.” 

“Oh,” he says, “I didn’t look at my cell all weekend. Sorry.” 

Taichi looks doubtful at this, but doesn’t say anything. 

“Was it important?” he tries, not wanting his best friend to be mad at him. 

Taichi shakes his head and turns away. “Not really.” 

He wants to reply, to say something to make it better, but their teacher comes in, so he shuts his mouth and doesn’t say a word. 

He spends the lecture wondering why Taichi’s cheek is bruised. 

* * *

After school he goes home and listens to the voicemail. 

_Hey, it’s Taichi, guess you’re not there... Call me back when you get this? It’s not important, I just really wanted to come over and hang out for awhile, being home is... driving me crazy. It doesn’t matter. Call me back soon!_

There’s a tremor in Taichi’s voice he recognises. It’s the way his voice always sounds when he’s trying hard not to cry but not always doing so well. 

Fuck. 

He rings Taichi back immediately, wondering how he let himself get so caught up in his own problems that he stopped being a friend. 

He supposes he deserves it when Taichi doesn’t answer. 

He doesn’t leave a voicemail. 

* * *

When he goes to school the next day, he discovers the band is mad at him. Ny especially. He’s ditched the last four practices they’ve held. 

“Are you quitting?” Ny demands. 

He shakes his head. “No,” he says softly. 

“Then why have you been avoiding practice?” 

He feels desperate. He doesn’t know what to tell them; he has no answer for them. He _wants_ to go to practice. 

But every time he thinks about it, the afterparty flashes in his mind. 

It had been such a great live. They’d all performed wonderfully, he’d sang his heart out. He’d been so pumped afterwards, filled with the rush of a job well done. Adrenaline was coursing through him at high speed and then he’d poured alcohol on top of it. 

He never even realised he’d been followed until the door locked behind them. 

He feels a lump in his throat. He wonders if Ny even realised there was anything wrong with him that night. 

“Yamato?” 

The hands on his wrist, the weight on top of his chest. He can smell the alcohol on his own breath when the stranger shoves fingers in his mouth and forces it open. He hears harsh breathing and it takes him a moment to realise it’s his own. 

“Yamato?” 

He blinks. The moment from that night is gone. 

Ratsuii’s staring at him, looking concerned. Something salty hits his lips, and he realises he’s crying. 

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, and then he flees. 

* * *

The sink is smeared with red. 

He touches a finger to it, noting it’s dry. He looks down then and sees rust-coloured droplets spattered all over the floor. There aren’t any new marks on his thighs, nor any large wounds, but both his arms are sporting numerous angry slashes, and the blood on them is just as smeared as the sink. 

His dad is knocking on the door, calling his name in a worried tone. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been out. He blinks and tries to speak, his voice catching. He clears his throat and tries again. 

“Out in a few minutes,” he manages, and looks around again. It’s enough to temporarily placate his dad. 

Quickly he turns the water on, running it hot. He tackles the sink first, and then the floor, working fast and erasing any traces of his blood. Once that’s done, he turns his attention to his arms. The hot water makes the new cuts sting. 

He wonders how he got so messed up that he likes the pain. 

When he finally flips off the light and exits the bathroom, making sure his sleeves are pulled all the way down, his dad is standing in the hallway waiting for him, a worried look on his face. 

“I was calling your name for almost ten minutes,” he says, eyes flicking down to the sleeves that Yamato has tightly wrapped his fingers around. 

“I fell asleep,” he says, and ducks around his dad into the dark of his bedroom. 

“Yamato–” his dad begins, no doubt ready to spew more stern words of lecture interlaced with concern, but he shuts the door, enclosing himself in the darkness. 

The dark is safe. 

* * *

He finds out the remnants of the bruise on Taichi’s cheek came from an errant soccer ball during Taichi’s last practice. Taichi still won’t tell him what that voicemail had been about, however. 

He knows he really does deserve it. He’s been a shitty friend lately. 

But at least Taichi’s still talking to him, unlike Ny. 

* * *

He doesn’t check on his post for a week. When he does, he’s floored to see there are about fifteen replies. He honestly hadn’t expected any. 

He reads through them slowly, blinking back tears at how nice everyone’s responses are. They all express sympathy for him, and understanding of where he’s at in his head right now. Some offer up their own stories. No one says anything negative, or tells him he should stop. No one even asks what his “bad thing” is, though a few offer to be a listening ear if he ever wants to talk about it. 

He feels overwhelmed. 

He stares at the responses for a moment longer, then powers down the computer and crawls in bed. He can’t bring himself to respond to anyone right now. 

* * *

Takeru shows up unannounced at the apartment the afternoon after he reads his responses. Yamato’s alone, as his dad’s still at work. He thinks about ignoring the door until Takeru goes away, but he knows how stubborn his brother can be. 

“Yamato! Let me in!” he calls, pounding on the door, and Yamato groans. He gets up from where he’d been sitting mindlessly on the couch and lets his little brother in. 

As soon as his brother’s in, he goes back to the couch and collapses on it once more. Takeru stands in front of it, arms folded across his chest and a serious look on his face. “Everyone’s worried about you,” he states bluntly. 

He glances briefly at his brother, and then continues to stare at the ceiling. He knows everyone is worried about him. 

“Yamato!” Takeru insists, but he doesn’t look over at him this time. 

“I’m fine,” he eventually says. 

“You’re not,” Takeru snaps. “Everyone can see that. And you told Dad you weren’t.” 

He simply shrugs. He wonders how Takeru knows about that, knowing it's something his dad wouldn't tell his brother, but can only assume his dad called his mom at some point. Unlike his dad, she always tells Takeru everything about him. 

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong,” his brother says. 

He can’t deal with this right now. He knows his brother is worried and just wants to help, but right now all he feels is annoyance. He just wants Takeru to go away and leave him alone. He can’t ever imagine himself telling Takeru about what happened to him. 

He stares blankly at his brother for a moment, and then gets off the couch and goes into his room, shutting the door and locking it. 

There’s a minute or so of silence, then Takeru’s stunned voice yells “Yamato!” at him from the other room. He ignores it and lays down on his bed to stare at that ceiling instead. Eventually he falls asleep. 

When he wakes back up again, Takeru is gone. 

* * *

Two days later, he and Taichi get into a fight. If one can even really call it that. 

He’d dreamed in the night again, of the fingers and the weight and the lights, of his head knocking against the headboard, of choking and breathing through his nose. Of the white staining his lips, and of the smell that, oddly enough, faintly resembled raw pancake batter. 

He hadn’t been able to eat lunch. 

“Not hungry again?” Taichi had asked him, sighing. 

He’d silently shaken his head. He’d expected Taichi to grudgingly accept his answer, as he’d been doing for the past couple of months. 

Apparently, however, Taichi had reached his breaking point. 

“Of course you’re not,” he’d snapped. “You never are anymore. Just like you never talk anymore either! But of course you’re fine! It’s not like you’ve lost weight or anything, you’re fine after all. It’s not like you avoid your band, and your brother, and your friends! You’re totally fine! Who needs to eat anyway, right? Why don’t you just starve yourself to death then? You’ll be fine!” 

He had found he could only stare at his best friend with wide eyes and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’d been uncomfortably reminded of the Taichi in his nightmares. 

He had wanted to throw up. He’d wanted to say something, to tell Taichi he _wasn’t_ fine, that something was wrong with him and he didn’t know how to fix it. He wanted Taichi to help him. 

“I...” 

Like always, the words had stuck in his throat. 

Taichi hadn’t bothered to stick around. He’d simply shaken his head in disgust before getting up and storming off. Yamato had sat silently and let him go. 

* * *

_Thank you everyone for the many kind words. I do not feel alone as much to know everyone else has gone through similar things._

_Today was a bad day. My best friend got mad at me when I was at school today. He wants to know the “bad thing” that happened. He does not know for sure that there is a “bad thing” but he knows something is wrong. I had many bad dreams last night, and I was not able to eat today. He became angry and said things he did not mean, and will not talk to me now._

_I really want to tell him but when I try, nothing happens. I say “I” but the other words get stuck in my mouth._

_I hurt myself a lot today. I wish I could tell one person who knows me._

* * *

He posts the reply to his thread but doesn’t leave the board, instead surfing through others’ posts of sorrow and offering a few condolences of his own. His thighs and stomach ache from the abuse he’d heaped on them earlier. 

He barely notices it over the ache in his heart. 

An hour later, just as he’s about to turn off the computer and go back to bed, his thread gets a new reply. 

* * *

_Hi lovemusic16. First off, I’ve just read both of your posts and I’m sorry to hear that you are struggling so much with self-harm. But I understand that you’re not ready to stop, and won’t suggest it. Of course it's not the healthiest coping method, but what many people who lack experience with it don’t seem to understand is that, even though it’s not the best thing, it’s what’s keeping you alive and sane right now. It’s what’s enabling you to get through whatever your “bad thing” is._

_If you don’t mind, I would like to share my own story. I’m a male, 23 now, and when I was 15, I was raped. He was 19, and the brother of one of my friends from school. I had never met him before, as he had been away at college overseas since I’d known my friend, but he’d managed to come home for the holidays that year. I had spent the evening at my friend’s house hanging out, and when I realised how late it had gotten and how mad my parents would be, he offered to give me a ride home._

_I didn’t think anything of accepting. I figured my friend’s brother would be trustworthy. But he wasn’t._

_He didn’t take me home at first. He drove me to an empty parking lot of an abandoned building and locked me in with him, setting the child safety locks so I couldn’t get out. He placated me by offering for us to crawl in the backseat and smoke a quick joint. I’d never smoked weed before, so even though I was anxious to get home, I figured I’d just smoke real quick and then we could go. After a bit, the weed had successfully gotten me a bit high, and I realised his hands were undoing my belt. I remember looking down in confusion, but before I could say anything about it, he was kissing me._

_It’s been eight years now, and I still can’t forget that night, as much as I’ve wished to over the years. I’m not going to go into the details, but he took me that night in the back of his car, ignoring my crying and begging pleas of no. It couldn’t have been more than seven or eight minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Afterwards, he used an old towel lying on the floorboards to wipe away my blood, and told me to get dressed. Then he took me home._

_I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t know how to. I felt ashamed of myself, and disgusted. I couldn’t properly process what had happened to me. I didn’t know how to deal with all of the emotions. I started cutting myself, wherever I could manage. Mostly my arms, sometimes my legs. I began wearing long sleeves to hide the marks. I became very depressed, and withdrew from my family and friends. I only talked when necessary, and rarely ate or slept. Everyone knew something was wrong, but no one knew what. They would try and try to ask, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone. I got worse and worse._

_A year after it happened, I tried to kill myself. Cutting only helped so much, and I was drowning under the weight of all the emotions I was constantly trying to deal with. I was rushed to the hospital, and my family found out about my self-harm. Even then, I still couldn’t tell them the truth, so they stuck me in a mental hospital. It was a miserable experience. My family paid for me to stay there three months. After the first month, I learned enough of what they wanted to temporarily stop cutting and pretend I was better, so that I could get released. But I wasn’t better. I began cutting within a week of my release. I wasn’t ready to stop. My parents found out, and took away all my “tools” and placed so many restrictions on me and were constantly watching me to make sure I couldn’t harm myself. I hated it, and I couldn’t cope with all my emotions. So the first chance I had, I attempted to kill myself for the second time._

_To make a long story a bit shorter, I went through years of cycling through self-harm, suicide attempts, and mental hospitals before I began to get better. Once I was 18, my parents couldn’t stick me in the hospitals anymore, or control my self-harm. I moved out and rented an apartment with the one friend I’d had left. I was 19 before I finally trusted him enough to tell him my secret. It was one of the most freeing feelings I’d ever experienced. Yet I was 20 before I sought therapy. Even now at 23, I’m only just beginning to really recover from what happened to me, and stop self-harming and put my life together._

_I guess, what I’m trying to tell you with all this, is that I wish I had told someone sooner. Telling someone did wonders for finally putting me on the path towards getting help, and not hating myself, and learning to deal with the things I was feeling. It helped me want to stop scarring up my skin, and eventually helped me to actually stop. I’ve finally started feeling “normal” again, and even happy at times. I don’t have bad dreams as much anymore. I’m hungry again, and talking to people. My life has gotten so much better since I’ve opened up._

_I don’t know what your “bad thing” is that happened. You don’t have to tell me, or anyone on here, or even anyone in your life if you really don’t want to. But I hope that you’ll at least consider telling someone. Maybe an online friend, or someone you’re not as close to, or maybe even a therapist if you think you want to do that. It’s easier when you aren’t as worried about being judged._

_Regardless of what you do, I’m sorry for the things you’re going through. I’m sorry your friend got mad at you and isn’t talking to you. A lot of my friends eventually did the same to me, and it only made me feel more lonely and depressed. I hope things turn out better for you than they did for me. I’ll be checking your thread every once in a while to see how you’re doing. Hang in there!_

* * *

He cries for a long time after reading the reply. 

Out of all the people in the previous replies that had shared their stories with him, this person is the first one to share a story of a situation similar to his. And the likeness to his own reactions isn’t lost on him. 

He knows he doesn't want to end up like them, cycling in and out of hospitals and carrying the weight of his secret for years. He knows he needs to tell someone. 

He just wishes he knew how to. 

* * *

Taichi doesn’t apologise to him for three days. He endures them silently, stoically, even though his heart is aching. He is terrified Taichi won’t ever speak to him again, that he’s fed up with him and giving up on him. 

His arms gain a lot of new marks. 

At last, at the end of the third day, Taichi approaches him as he’s packing up to go home. 

“Yamato. I’m sorry,” Taichi says. 

His hand stills in its motions, textbook still halfway out of his bag. He doesn’t look up. 

“I’m worried about you,” Taichi continues bluntly. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you the other day, but I know something’s wrong. I wish you would talk to me, tell me what’s bothering you. I want to help you.” 

“I...” 

“You what?” 

Yamato shakes his head. He just can’t. 

After a moment of silence, Taichi sighs. “Come on then,” he says. “Let’s go home.” 

* * *

The next time he checks his computer, there’s an email from Mimi. 

He and Mimi had started emailing a month or so after they’d saved the Digital World a second time. Over the past couple of years, he’s become pretty good friends with her. He’s still best friends with Taichi, of course, but sometimes he finds it easier to tell her things than Taichi. 

He hasn’t emailed her since that Thursday night. 

Swallowing, he opens it up and begins to read. 

* * *

_Hey Yamato! How are you doing? You never answered my last email, and it’s been a couple of months now... Is everything okay? Taichi didn’t say much, but he mentioned he was worried about you. Sora and Koushiro said something too. You know you can always talk to me, right? I won’t tell any of the other Chosen. No judgement. Write me back please!_

_Mimi ♥_

* * *

He stares at the email for a long time. His mind feels blank. 

He doesn’t know what to do. 

* * *

He begins to use the web board more frequently over the next few days. It’s so much easier to pour out his thoughts and feelings to complete strangers that have been in a similar place, even if he sometimes get frustrated by his English. 

Everyone that responds to him always has something sympathetic or encouraging to say. Several people try to convince him to tell someone in his “real life” what’s bothering him, or about whatever happened to him. 

He starts private messaging the guy whose situation was similar to his own, the one that had left him such a long response. He never comes out and admits what happened to him, but the questions he asks probably make the guy–whose name is Alex–suspect the truth. 

Alex manages to give him a suggestion that no one else does. He says to write a letter to whoever he wants to tell the truth to. This way, he’s still telling someone, but the pressure is off to have to actually say the words to their face and see their immediate reaction. 

The more Yamato thinks about it, the more he likes the idea. He thinks about the last response Mimi sent him. Mimi is far away in America. And an email is a lot like a letter. 

* * *

When he comes back to himself in the middle of the night some days later, tightly clutching his knife, skin smeared with red and the echoing remnants of his nightmare ringing in his ears, he knows what to do. 

He doesn’t bother to clean up. He just sets his knife aside and quietly creeps over to the computer, not wanting to wake his dad. 

The sound of the computer booting up and then dialling into the internet seems so loud in the silence of the night. He winces, and listens anxiously for any sign of his dad waking. 

He hears nothing. 

Eventually he’s settled in front of his screen, trying to ignore how bright it seems in the dark of his room, Mimi’s email open in front of him. He hits the ‘reply’ button and begins to type. 

* * *

_Hi Mimi... Sorry I didn’t respond to your last email sooner. The truth is... everything is not okay. I know everyone is worried about me. I want to tell Taichi, have tried to tell him, but every time, the words seem to get stuck in my throat._

_I’m not fine._

_That is what is wrong with me. I’m not fine. I barely eat. I’ve lost a ton of weight. My dad has threatened to stick me in the hospital several times. I also don’t sleep well anymore. I have nightmares a lot, and wake up choking or crying. I can’t stand bright light anymore. I spend a lot of time in the dark._

_There are other things, too, other secrets I still want to keep. I know I’m not alone, though. I found a web board, with other people like me. It’s in English, but I still post there some. It helps a little._

_I can’t stand to go to band practice anymore. It reminds me too much of that Thursday night. The night everything changed, and I felt like I stopped really living. My bandmates are all worried about me too, and mad that I’ve skipped practice and won’t tell them what’s going on._

_If I tell you, please don’t think badly of me... I wish I hadn’t let it happen. I wish I could have done something._

_Do you remember the last email I sent you, telling you about the live I had?_

_Well, the live was great. It went so well, I was so excited and happy. But the band had a party afterwards at Nyusumi’s house. A bunch of fans were there. I got drunk. I didn’t even really mean to. I was just having a good time, riding the adrenaline of a successful live, drinking along with everyone else. I didn’t realise how drunk I really was until I stood up._

_The party was mostly outside and in Ny’s guest house. I went in, looking for the bathroom. It’s off the one bedroom. It wasn’t until the door was shut and locked behind me that I realised someone had followed me into the bedroom. He pinned me to the bed. I tried to fight, but I was so drunk... At one point he hit my head and then I couldn’t manage to fight anymore._

_The lights on the ceiling were really bright._

_I threw up a lot afterwards. There was blood. I wanted a shower. I wanted to wash him away. I wanted to get clean again._

_I still haven’t been able to._

_So... that’s it. I’m not fine. I don’t know what to do._

_Yamato_

* * *

He’s crying by the time he finishes, silent tears sliding down his cheeks to land on his hands. Even just that little bit dredges up every horrible memory of that night. He feels dirty, and worthless. 

He lets the pointer hover over the ‘send’ button for quite a while. Now that he’s written it out, he’s uncertain if he wants to send it, to finally have someone else know. 

A sudden noise out in the hallway has him panicking. His dad is getting up to use the bathroom. 

Quickly, before he can think about it anymore, he clicks the send button, and then jabs at the monitor to turn it off. He’s back in bed pretending to sleep by the time his dad pokes his head through the partially open door to quietly check on him. 

When his dad leaves again a moment later, he lets out a shaky breath. Now Mimi will know. 

He can only hope she won’t be disgusted by him. 

* * *

Twenty minutes after sending the email, his cell rings. 

He bolts upright in bed, lunging at the bedside table where he keeps it, and turns it on silent. Only then does he look at the display. 

It’s Mimi. 

He takes a confused moment to wonder why she’s calling him at two in the morning, and then remembers it’s around three in the afternoon in America. 

He continues to stare at the display. His heart beats a little faster in anxiety. He doesn’t want to answer it. 

It rings several times before she gives up and the screen darkens. He doesn’t set it down. Instead he waits, tense, for her to try again. 

A few minutes later the screen lights up again, this time letting him know he’s got an email. 

He sighs, and creeps back over to the monitor, turning it back on. 

* * *

_Yamato, I know you’re there. I know it’s the middle of the night for you, but you only sent your email maybe half an hour ago, if that. I’m not looking to make you talk about it, and I’m not judging you at all, but I’d like to talk to you for just a minute or two. Please? I want you to hear me say this and hear the sincerity in my voice. Please pick up._

_Mimi_

* * *

He doesn’t know why, but the email makes him start crying again. 

True to her word, his cell begins to silently ring again a couple of minutes after he reads the email. 

He lets it ring for a bit, not sure if he wants to answer. He looks at the email again. 

Wiping away a few tears, he flips open the phone. He doesn’t say ‘hello.’ 

“Yamato?” 

More tears slide down his cheeks. He’s suddenly terrified. He can’t believe he’s actually told someone. 

“Yamato, I can hear you breathing.” She lets out a little half-laugh, though it doesn’t sound all that amused. “Sorry, I just realised that sounded a little creepy.” 

Still he says nothing. There’s a lump in his throat. It’s not unlike the one that appears when he tries to tell Taichi. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to talk. Just listen. Yamato... thank you for trusting me. I’m glad you consider me a good enough friend to tell me such a secret. I’m so sorry something like that happened to you. I can’t even begin to imagine how awful it must have been. But I do know that you didn’t deserve it.” 

Her voice sounds both pained and sympathetic. He bites his lip to stifle the sudden threatening sobs and grips the phone tightly. 

“Even if you were drunk that night, no one had the right to violate you like that. No one ever has the right to hurt you in such a way. It wasn’t your fault, Yamato. I hope you don’t blame yourself, and I want you to know that I don’t think any less of you for what happened.” 

His fingers relax ever so slightly. 

She continues on, oblivious to the emotional turmoil her words are putting him through, though he’s thankful for them just the same. “If you ever want to talk, you can always call me, or have me call you, okay? Call anytime, I’m always available to listen.” 

She falls silent then. He sits there a moment, breathing deeply and trying to calm down. The knot in his throat loosens. He parts his lips. 

“Thanks,” he says softly, and hangs up. 

* * *

When he wakes back up Saturday morning, there’s another email from Mimi. 

He merely looks at it, heart pounding, too afraid to open it. What if she changed her mind from last night and now has decided she hates him after all? 

He shuts the computer down and stares at the dark screen blankly until his dad knocks on his door and pokes his head in. 

“Yamato? Are you okay?” His dad sounds confused. 

“I’m fine,” he says automatically. 

“Come eat breakfast? I got some take away.” 

He shakes his head. He’s not hungry. His stomach is a giant knot of nerves. 

Behind him, he hears his dad sigh, and then the door shuts. 

He’s alone in the room. With a shaking hand, he reaches out and boots up the computer again. 

* * *

_Yamato... I know I talked to you last night, but I wanted to say it again, so you know for sure. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry something like that happened to you. That’s awful. You didn’t deserve it. I really do hope that you don’t blame yourself, though your words suggest otherwise... But even if you were drunk, it was not your fault. No one has the right to hurt you in such a way._

_I know it has to be hard, but keep trying to tell Taichi. I know he’s worried, and I know he would do whatever he could to help you. And don’t worry, I won’t tell him or anyone else, unless you ask me to._

_If you ever need to talk to me about it, any of it, I’ll always be willing to listen. You can email, or we can chat on the web, or you can even ask me to call you if you like. My parents won’t mind paying the long distance charges._

_Also, I did some searching on the web after I hung up... Japan doesn’t have a whole lot of resources, but I found a couple of links I will attach to this email. One is the Tokyo Rape Crisis Center, they are geared towards helping women, but you might find some of the info useful. The other is a support group I found, they are for younger male survivors, and they have meetings. America has more resources, though of course you can’t use most of them since you’re not here, but I’ll attach the ones with info you could find helpful. You don’t have to use them all, or any of them, but if you think you want to talk to someone about it, they’re there._

_Please take care of yourself. You’re a great friend to me, and I know from our time in the Digital World that you’re a strong person, Yamato. You can make it through this. I believe in you!_

_Mimi_

* * *

He’s barely finished reading the email when his dad comes back. 

“Get dressed,” his dad says without preamble. 

He closes the email and turns around in his chair to give his dad a blank look of confusion. 

“I’ve warned you several times, Yamato. Yet you still barely eat. You’ve lost a ton of weight. You’ve started dressing in layers despite the warm weather. I know you’re also still throwing up some of the food you do eat. You won’t tell anyone what’s wrong. I’m sorry, but I can’t let this go on anymore. I’m taking you to the hospital.” 

He stays quiet, tears pricking at his eyes as he listens. Despite the words, his dad sounds _scared_. He never wanted to make his dad feel that way. 

“I don’t want to,” he says softly. 

His dad’s shoulders slump slightly, and he lets out a sigh. “Yamato, I don’t know what else to do. You need help. Fight me on this if you must, but one way or another, you’re going.” 

He sits still for a moment. He wonders if the hospital will see all his marks and scars. He doesn’t want anyone to know about them. 

He doesn’t want to fight his dad, either. 

Slowly, he nods. “Okay.” 

* * *

The waiting room is cold. He’s wearing two shirts and a jacket, and still has to repress the urge to shiver. 

It’s a miserable hour before his number is up. He follows the nurse down the halls and slips into the room she indicates, looking at the thin hospital gown she hands him with trepidation. 

He wonders if he should tell his dad or just let him see. He doesn’t put the gown on. 

When the nurse comes back a few minutes later, she tsks at him. “Please put that on,” she tells him. “I know they’re not much, but if you’re cold we can bring you some more blankets.” 

He watches her go again, saying nothing. His dad speaks up from where he’d settled in a chair in the corner of the small room. “I can leave the room if you don’t want to change in front of me,” he offers, and Yamato nods. 

He can change and get under the covers before his dad ever sees his arms. 

He knows it’s really only delaying the inevitable, but it helps. 

* * *

His dad finds out when the doctor comes to look him over. 

He had managed to keep his dad out of the room while the nurse was doing the usual things of getting his weight and temperature, but his dad insists on staying while the doctor is there. 

“So what brings you here today?” 

He’s looking at Yamato, but it’s his dad who answers. 

“He barely eats anymore,” his dad says. “And what little he does eat, he throws up half of it. He’s lost a lot of weight. I’m worried about him.” 

“Hmm. Is the throwing up voluntary?” 

Yamato shakes his head. He really doesn’t do it on purpose. 

“Any pain, stomach upset, any other symptoms?” 

He shakes his head again. 

“Alright, let’s have a look.” 

He doesn’t really know what the doctor means until he pulls back the covers, and then his arms are exposed to everyone. 

His dad sucks in a sharp breath and then closes his eyes, as if the sight is too much. 

Hot shame washes over him, and he blinks back the tears that threaten. He wants to hide himself away in a room with his knife. 

The doctor is silent for a moment, then says softly, “I’ll add a request for a psych eval.” 

* * *

The place where the nurse put the IV in his arm feels cold. He doesn’t like it. 

The doctor had said nothing else about the destruction on his arm. He’d just continued to check him over and ask a few more questions, eventually deciding that whatever the cause, he was malnourished enough to require nutrients from an IV. He’d suggested a feeding tube at first, but Yamato had nearly panicked at the thought of something being shoved down his throat. 

His dad hasn’t said much since the doctor and nurse left. He doesn’t know what he’s thinking. 

He wonders if his dad hates him. 

* * *

The counsellor they send to talk to him a while later makes his dad leave the room. 

He’s asked a bunch of questions, some of which he can’t bring himself to answer. Not all of them have to do with his self-harm. 

When he’s asked if he’s ever felt like taking his own life, he shakes his head no. He doesn’t think he’s ever once thought about that. 

In the end, he’s given a diagnosis of depression and a recommendation for further evaluation and treatment by a licensed psychologist. They also give him a fact sheet on malnutrition, a recommendation on which nutritional supplements he is to start taking, a prescription for anti-nausea pills, and an appointment card for his usual doctor to monitor his progress. They also tell him that if he isn’t able to start eating and gaining some weight back, he will have to be admitted to the hospital and fed through the IV until he starts reaching a healthier weight. 

He doesn’t bother to tell them that he’ll probably just wind up throwing up the pills too. It’s so hard to let anything go down his throat these days. 

* * *

It’s dark out by the time he gets back home. 

He doesn’t bother with answering Mimi’s email. He’s too worn out. Instead he just crawls into bed, still fully clothed, and is soon fast asleep. 

* * *

His dad drags him into the living room early the next morning to talk. 

“We need to discuss a few things,” his dad says quietly. 

He nods, and stares at the lamp. It’s still missing the lamp shade, and is still too bright. It makes him uncomfortable. The lights at Ny’s had been bare bulbs too, though they’d been arranged in a stylish line on the ceiling. 

He hears his dad sigh next to him. “I know you don’t like the lights anymore, Yamato, but we can’t talk in the dark. Please try to look at me and not the lamp.” 

He tears his gaze away reluctantly, briefly meeting his dad’s eyes before looking down at his lap instead. Looking at his dad makes him feel ashamed, knowing his dad knows at least one of his secrets now. 

“The, uh... cutting yourself...” 

His dad sounds so awkward. He wants to flee back into his bedroom, wants to huddle under his covers in the dark where he feels safe and doesn’t have to deal with the world. 

“I went on the web and looked some things up when you first started wearing long sleeves. I had suspected you were... hurting yourself... but I didn’t realise it was so extensive. I read enough to know that trying to make you stop will just make it worse, but I want you to promise me that if you hurt yourself seriously enough to require medical attention beyond simple first aid, that you will go to the hospital, whether you find your own way or ask me or someone else to take you. Promise?” 

He nods again, still not looking up. 

“No. I want you to look up at me and say it, Yamato.” 

After a moment’s hesitation, he does so, his eyes flitting to his dad’s face long enough to say softly “I promise,” before looking down once again. 

“Thank you. And... I don’t hate you because of it. I’m worried for you, and I wish you would tell someone whatever is wrong, but I’ll never hate you for it.” 

Yamato swallows. His chest feels tight. He doesn’t respond. 

“As for the food issue...” His dad sighs. “The doctor gave me some suggestions. Even though you are to take the supplements daily, you still need to actually eat. So we’re going to start having set meal times, and you are required to try and eat something at every meal. You’ll also take your pills half an hour before eating to help you keep the food down. He gave me a list of foods that are easy on the stomach, so we’ll start you off with those for now. Is that agreeable?” 

It’s not. Just thinking about having to eat three times a day is making him want to be sick. He nods again anyway. 

* * *

Ten minutes later he’s in the bathroom throwing up the pill. He tries not to, he really does. But he chokes on the water, and five seconds after that he’s flashing back to that Thursday, choking on other things... 

His dad looks old and defeated when he walks back into the kitchen. It makes him feel horrible. He doesn’t mean to worry his dad. He wishes he could still eat, and sleep, and not hurt himself, and just be _him_ again. 

And he really doesn’t want to go back to the hospital. 

Before his dad can say anything to him, he goes back over the counter where he’d left the bottle of pills and takes another one out. He grabs the glass he’d used earlier, and fills it with some more water from the tap. He looks at the little white pill in his hand, then resolutely takes a breath before swallowing it down. 

He refuses to let himself think about that Thursday. 

* * *

An hour later, he’s successfully eaten breakfast and kept it down. 

His dad looks as if he’ll nearly cry from relief. 

It makes him feel even worse. Something that should be so trivial should never make his dad so happy. 

He hides away in his bedroom and loses himself for awhile. There are several patches of dark red drying on his sheets by the time he’s aware again. 

He doesn’t tell his dad.


	4. Part Three

* * *

_Hi Mimi..._

_Thanks for the links. I don’t know if I’m ready to look at them just yet, but it helps knowing they’re there. And thank you for being so understanding about things. It’s a bit easier to tell you stuff sometimes, I think. Though I’m still scared of how you might react, it’s easier to be able to just type something out and not have to actually see you when you find out._

_So, my dad took me to the hospital the other morning. I felt too sick to eat breakfast, and I guess he got tired of it. They put an IV in me and gave me a bunch of nutrients. I was there for several hours. Now I have to take “nutritional supplements” every day, and my dad is making me eat at least a little bit three times a day. I also have pills to help me not throw up. But the first pill I took, I threw up._

_I really don’t mean to. It’s just hard not to remember stuff that happened when I try to swallow any food or drink. It makes me sick... But of course my dad doesn’t know that. And I can’t bring myself to tell him yet._

_Anyway, thanks for the offer to listen any time I need it. Tell me how things are going with you. I’ll reply when I can._

_Yamato_

* * *

His dad has talked to the school and arranged things. Half an hour before lunchtime Yamato is excused to the nurse’s office, where she gives him a pill and watches him swallow it down. He doesn’t immediately start throwing it back up, so she sends him back to class. 

Taichi raises his eyebrows when he actually eats something at lunchtime. It isn’t much, just half a portion of plain rice with a few vegetables, but it’s more than Taichi’s seen him eat in the past couple of months. 

“Dad made me go to the hospital,” he mumbles to Taichi’s unspoken question. “They gave me pills to help.” 

“Is that where you went earlier?” 

“Mhmm.” 

“Well good. It’s really dangerous if you don’t eat. You can get really sick.” 

He looks down at his empty bowl and doesn’t say anything. He wishes everyone would understand he doesn’t do it on purpose. 

* * *

Next Tuesday morning he’s approached by Sayumi. 

He’s still at the entrance to the school, placing his shoes in one of the boxes when she comes up next to him and asks to speak to him privately. 

“Hi Yamato,” she says. “Can I speak to you alone for a minute?” 

He hesitates. He doesn’t know her very well, though he knows of her. They aren’t in the same class, but she’s very popular in their year, and he knows many guys have a crush on her. 

“Okay,” he eventually says, and they duck into a nearby alcove. Other students passing by look at them curiously. 

“So, I was at your live a couple of months ago. You were great!” she gushes. 

“Thanks,” he says, feeling uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to have to think about that night anymore. 

“You’re such a good singer, you have a really amazing voice,” she continues, oblivious to his discomfort. He wonders if she’s trying to flirt with him. The thought makes his throat tighten. 

“Are you going to have another one anytime soon?” 

“Ah... no. Probably not.” Because even thinking about going to a practice makes him break out in a cold sweat. 

“Aw, that’s such a shame!” she pouts. She is definitely trying to flirt with him. He feels ill. 

“Well... maybe you could give me a private showing sometime?” she asks him. Her voice is coy and her smile suggestive. 

His eyes widen. “I-I don’t think that’d be fair to the other fans,” he stammers inanely. This is turning into a nightmare. He wants to run away and be sick. 

Her smile falters for a moment. “Perhaps I could give you a private showing instead,” she tries. “You can listen to some of my songs, maybe even use them if you like them.” 

“I really don’t think so,” he says faintly. 

Her smile disappears completely this time, turning into an unhappy frown. “Are you turning me down?” she demands. 

His mouth is dry. His throat feels closed off. He doesn’t answer her. 

“You can’t turn me down!” she screeches. Her voice is shrill. It hurts his ears. “No one ever turns me down! Any guy should be _lucky_ to date me!” 

Other students are looking. They stop in the hallway, watching the scene playing out before them. He wishes he could melt into the wall. 

“You _have_ to go out with me!” she insists. “I’m choosing you! You should feel honoured!” 

Yamato simply shakes his head. 

“How dare you!” she cries. She storms off, then whirls around to face him again a few feet away. “You’re going to regret this, Yamato! No one turns me down!” 

He remains frozen in the alcove after she’s left, clutching tightly to his bag while people whisper around him. That familiar biting urge is gnawing at him again. When the hallways clear up a bit, he slips into the nearest bathroom. 

* * *

“So what’s this I’m hearing about you and Sayumi?” 

He frowns, and looks at Taichi. “Nothing,” he mutters. He doesn’t want to talk about it. 

“She asked you out?” 

He pokes unhappily at his rice with a chopstick and doesn’t reply. 

“I heard you turned her down. That true?” Taichi prods. 

He just shrugs, and wishes Taichi would drop it. 

“Tohru said that Kenta told her she made a scene when you wouldn’t agree to go out with her. That she screamed at you.” 

He slams his chopsticks down, upsetting his lunch tray. “Yes! Okay? I turned her down and she got mad and screamed at me! Everything you’ve heard is probably true! Now shut up about it!” 

Taichi stares at him in surprise, eyes a bit wide. “Sorry,” he says, voice coming out small. 

Yamato sighs and closes his eyes briefly. His arm is still stinging from this morning, but the gnawing is already back. He stands up, ignoring his spilled food. 

“Where are you going?” Taichi asks, sounding hesitant. 

“Bathroom.” 

* * *

There’s red droplets all over the floor of the stall and red smears all over his arms. 

He has nothing to bandage them with. He didn’t really think this through. 

Sighing, he slips his knife back into his pocket and grabs some toilet paper. Wet paper towels would work better, but he isn’t going to risk going out of the stall where anyone can come in and see him. 

When he’s cleaned up as much as possible, he heads back to the classroom. Lunch has already ended, and the teacher is not happy he’s late. He’s made to stand out in the hallway as punishment for thirty minutes. 

Taichi doesn’t talk to him for the rest of the afternoon. He supposes he deserves it. 

* * *

Ratsuii corners him the next day after school has ended. 

“Ny’s about to kick you out of the band if you don’t show up for practice soon,” he says grimly. 

Yamato stares at him despairingly, not sure what to say. He can’t go to practice right now, he just _can’t_. The band is a huge reminder of the events that turned his life into a wreck. 

Ratsuii’s face softens some. “Look, it’s clear to all of us that something’s going on with you. Judging by the way Taichi and your other friends are always giving you worried looks, I’m guessing you haven’t told them either. Ny doesn’t really want to kick you out of the band, he just doesn’t know what else to do or what you’re thinking. Are you _wanting_ to quit right now?” 

He shakes his head mutely. He really doesn’t want to quit. He wants more than anything to go to practice, to sing his heart out, to indulge in a passion that has always made all his worries melt away in the past. 

“Then talk to us. Tell us what’s going on. Tell us why you won’t go to practice.” 

His chest is tight. His heart aches. He feels splintered. “I _want_ to,” he says, and his voice cracks on the words. 

“But?” Ratsuii prompts gently. 

“I’m sorry,” he says helplessly. “Don’t kick me out.” 

“Yamato...” 

“I _can’t_!” he cries. “I just can’t right now! Okay? Please Ratz, please don’t let Ny kick me out! I’m sorry! Please!” His voice is rising insistently with every word, and Ratsuii’s staring at him with slightly wide-eyed concern, but though he’s starting to feel slightly hysterical he can’t seem to help himself. It’s been awhile since he’s shown this much emotion and it’s bubbling up in him, spilling over. 

“I want to, I swear, but please don’t let him kick me out,” he begs again. “I really _can’t_ right now.” 

Ratsuii sighs. “I’ll talk to him,” he says, “but you’re going to have to talk to us and tell us what’s going on soon. We can’t be on a hiatus for the rest of our lives if we want the band to make it anywhere.” 

* * *

Thursday he’s coming back from the bathroom during lunch when he’s cornered by Sayumi. They’re the only two students in the hallway, and before he has time to act she’s pushing him into the wall, pressing her body uncomfortably close up against his. 

He freezes, mind flashing back to the weight, and the hands, and being pinned and unable to break free. He whimpers. “No–” 

“Shh,” Sayumi whispers, and then she’s kissing him, her lips soft and warm against his. 

His eyes widen and for a moment he remains frozen, and then he’s shoving her off of him without any real conscious thought, stumbling away down the hall. He doesn’t care where he goes, he just needs to get away from her. He feels in shock, unable to believe someone has yet _again_ violated him against his will. 

“Yamato, wait!” she calls after him. 

He ignores her. He wants to be sick. Eventually he somehow makes it back to the bathroom, and once he’s inside he slides down against the wall to sit on the floor. 

It doesn’t take long after that for the tears to start. 

* * *

Taichi finds him half an hour later, face streaked and still sobbing uncontrollably. He halts in the doorway when he catches sight of him. “Yamato?” 

He doesn’t respond to his best friend, or make any effort to calm down. He’s just so tired of everything. He doesn’t want to hurt anymore, or to remember, or to have little things constantly make him relive that Thursday night. 

Taichi comes over to him, approaching carefully, before settling himself on the floor next to him. “I’ll listen if you want to talk,” he says softly. 

Overall, Taichi’s been pretty understanding over the last few months since he’s changed. He’s withdrawn from everyone, rarely talks, shows little interest in anyone else’s lives, and yet Taichi still sticks by him. Sure, Taichi’s gotten frustrated with him a few times, but he’s always apologised, and Yamato knows he should deserve far worse. 

He wants so badly to tell Taichi. 

“I...” 

“You what?” 

He lets out another sob. No matter what, he can’t make the words come. 

Beside him, Taichi sighs. “I think we’re way past the point of you needing to tell someone, Yamato. Please, talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.” 

He thinks about the email he’d sent Mimi, telling her what happened without actually telling her. He wonders if he can do the same with Taichi. He wonders if Taichi will be as understanding as Mimi. 

He takes a deep breath, and then another, forcing himself to calm some. Gradually his sobs lessen, though his tears don’t stop. Taichi sits quietly beside him, patiently waiting, his form a solid and comforting presence. 

He swallows. His stomach is full of lead. He feels sick. He wants his knife. 

He hopes Taichi doesn’t hate him. 

“The live,” he croaks out. 

Taichi frowns briefly. “Your last one? A few months ago?” 

He nods. Takes another deep breath. Clears his throat. “There was a party after. At Ny’s house...” He shudders, memories of that night once again assailing him. 

Sitting with a large group of fans, flirting with girls and guys alike. 

Someone shoving a drink in his hand. He doesn’t even think, he just downs it. And then the next one, and the next one. 

One guy in particular paying plenty of attention to him, flirting like mad. He flirts back, liking the attention. 

“Something happened at the party?” Taichi asks softly, breaking into his thoughts. 

“Yeah.” He pulls his knees up towards his chest and wraps his arms around them, feeling cold. “I got drunk. It was an accident. Or, sort of. I knew I was drunk, I just didn’t realise how much so.” He wipes at his face, which is still being soaked from the tears he can’t seem to stop. 

Taichi doesn’t say anything, waiting for whatever’s coming next. 

“I went into the guest house to find the bathroom...” He pauses, and lets out a shaky breath. Even though he _wants_ to tell Taichi, talking about the next part is hard, and he’s never had to say any of it out loud before. 

“The only way to the bathroom is through the bedroom...” He stops again, feeling panic rise just from thinking about it. A few small sobs escape him. He shudders again. 

“Yamato...” 

The door to the boy’s bathroom opens then, and he dimly registers their next teacher coming in, before halting upon spotting him much the same as Taichi had, but Yamato doesn’t stop. 

“I didn’t even realise,” he says, voice thick with tears. “I was too drunk, I didn’t realise! I heard the lock and I turned around and I still didn’t get it at first!” He’s getting hysterical, the words exploding out of him as he finally, _finally_ tells Taichi about what happened that Thursday night, but Taichi doesn’t try to calm him. He simply listens. 

“He forced me on to the bed and he puts one hand on my both my wrists, holding both of them above my head and I try to fight him but I’m so drunk I can’t figure out what’s going on.” He’s switched to present tense in his recollection, reliving the memories as they’re playing out in his head, but he doesn’t realise, too caught up in them. 

Taichi’s looking faintly sick, probably getting an idea of what happened to him, but he still lets him talk, perhaps sensing his need to finally get his horrible secret out. Their teacher is also listening silently in the doorway, face solemn, and Yamato knows he’ll have to report it to someone, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to deal with this terrible secret on his own anymore. 

“I try to fight him but I can’t and he puts his hands...” He falters, not able to say it out loud. “He starts trying to undo my jeans and then he’s got his fingers in my mouth and I bite down and he hits me in the head really hard and then I feel really disoriented...” 

A few more sobs, and he continues on, unable to _stop_ talking about it now that he’s started. “He’s in my mouth and he keeps banging my head against the headboard and it _hurts_ and my hands are free but I’m too weak and confused to make him stop and then I’m choking and it tastes bad and I’m throwing up...” 

“Yamato, oh my god...” Taichi’s voice is full of horror and pain, but Yamato doesn’t pay him any mind right now. He’s kept it inside for so long. He needs to talk. The words pour out of him in a rushed jumbled mess and he’s not even sure if Taichi can understand him through the crying but he doesn’t stop. 

“I’m hoping he’s done but then he gets my jeans off and I try to fight him again but I’m useless and then it hurts so bad and I feel like I shut down because all I can do is stare at the lights on the ceiling and they’re so _bright_ and eventually he’s gone but it still hurts and I’m bleeding and I get my jeans back on and crawl in the bathroom and throw up over and over... Ny finds me not long after and he thinks I’m just hung over so he helps me to bed in the main house and then I go home the next morning and shower and shower and don’t tell anybody... I can’t eat and I can’t sleep and I can’t stand the lights and I can’t stop thinking about it and I’m _not fine_! I’m not Taichi, I’m not!” 

He stops then, finally, worn out now that his secret is out, and crying so hard he can’t see straight, shaking and hugging himself desperately. 

“I know you're not fine, Yamato," Taichi soothes. "I've known you haven't been fine for months now. I’m really sorry that happened... I don’t even know what to say... It must have been so scary, and awful trying to deal with it by yourself afterwards.” 

He just hugs himself tighter, too exhausted to say anything else. He feels drained, and his heart aches. 

Their teacher finally steps further into the room, approaching the two of them. 

“Mr. Ishida...” he says softly, and Yamato looks up wearily, not bothering to swipe away any tears. “You know I’m going to have to report this so someone can alert your father, right?” 

He just nods. If a teacher had to come in during his confession, he’s glad it was this one. The man has been his favourite teacher since the start of the school year. 

“Mr. Yagami, please stay here and watch over him while I alert the office staff. Try to calm him down some more, because he’ll have to come down to the nurse’s office shortly.” 

“Yes sir,” Taichi says, and then they’re alone again. 

They sit quietly for a bit, while Yamato cries himself out. After a while Taichi sighs. “I really am sorry, Yamato... I wish that hadn’t happened to you.” 

“Me too,” he chokes out. 

“You haven’t told anyone before now?” 

“...Mimi. In an email, maybe a week or two ago. She was nice about it. She sent me links to stuff. She said I should tell you.” 

“I’ve been worried...” 

“I know... I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Taichi told him firmly. “You needed to tell me when you were ready to. I understand that. I’m not mad at you. None of this is your fault.” 

He doesn’t have an answer to that one. 

* * *

His dad’s face is worried and slightly frantic when he steps into the nurse’s office. He looks around wildly until he spots Yamato huddled on one of the two beds, and then his face takes on a relieved look. 

They haven’t told his dad yet why he’s here. The relieved look won’t last. 

“Yamato?” his dad says, approaching him. “What’s going on, are you okay? Did you get sick?” 

He’d managed to stop crying in the bathroom and clean his face some, but hearing his dad’s obvious concern for him causes the tears to threaten again. It’s going to break his dad’s heart to learn the truth of his horrible secret. He shakes his head. 

“Mr. Ishida?” The principal approaches his dad. “Let’s go back in my office and talk for a minute.” 

“Of course,” his dad replies, though Yamato can tell he’s still confused as to why he’s been called from work to come here. 

He watches them leave the room with a heavy heart. 

* * *

The grief in his dad’s face when he steps back into the room alone several minutes later makes him feel awful. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice catching slightly. 

“Yamato, no,” his dad says immediately, sounding pained. “You have nothing to apologise for. This isn’t your fault.” 

“I was stupid, I got drunk,” he says. A few tears slip out and slide down his cheeks to gently drop onto his knees. 

His dad comes over and sits down on the bed beside him. “That doesn’t give anyone the right to rape you.” 

He flinches, not liking hearing the word out loud in connection with himself. “I couldn’t fight him off.” 

His dad sighs wearily. “I know... Your teacher told me what you told Taichi.” 

“I wanted to tell him for months now. I tried, I really did, I just _couldn’t_.” 

“It’s okay,” his dad replies gently. “We know now. That’s what matters. We can get you some help.” 

“Are you mad at me?” he asks in a small voice. 

“Mad?” His dad looks at him in confusion. “What in the world would I have to be mad at you about?” 

He shrugs. 

“Look at me,” he says, and waits until Yamato does, meeting his eyes hesitantly. “I am not mad at you, for _any_ reason. The only person I am mad at is the person who hurt you so badly.” 

He flinches again, dropping his eyes. “What do we do now?” 

“Right now we go home. You’ve been excused for the rest of the day, and tomorrow and even Monday if you need it. Once we get home, it’s up to you. If you want to talk, I’ll listen. If you just want to sit with me, we can do that. If you need to be alone, I’ll give you some time. If you want to rest or sleep, that’s fine too.” 

“What about after that?” 

“We’ll have time to talk about that in the next couple of days. For now, let’s just get you home, okay?” 

He nods. 

* * *

He’s too tired to talk anymore once he gets home, so he doesn’t even try. Instead, his dad helps him to bed, because he can barely keep his head up. He’s so emotionally wrung out from the day that he doesn’t even protest when his dad helps him out of his school blazer. It’s not like his dad hasn’t seen the marks on his arms before. 

Thankfully his dad doesn’t say anything about them, though he must have noticed the new marks from Tuesday and Wednesday. 

When he’s in bed buried under the covers and the lights off, his dad wishes him a softly-spoken “sleep well” and pulls the door mostly shut. He’s asleep before his dad makes it all the way back down the hall. 

* * *

When he next wakes, he’s surprised to realise it’s morning and that he slept through the night without any nightmares. He’s also surprised his dad let him sleep through dinner. His dad must have thought he really needed the sleep. 

He stumbles out of bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and pulls on a plain-coloured long sleeved shirt. It’s past time for school to have started, so he’s obviously not going today. 

When he walks into the kitchen, his dad’s at the stove, frowning over breakfast. His dad has been attempting to learn how to cook since the hospital ordered Yamato to eat three times a day. He’s had to rely on Yamato’s help a lot, but he actually is learning, which pleases Yamato. 

He swallows down one of his pills without too much trouble for once, and then goes over to rescue his dad. 

* * *

After breakfast they settle into the living room. His dad turns on the TV, but leaves off the lamp, for which Yamato is grateful. He stares mindlessly at whatever program his dad’s got playing, watching it but not really paying attention. 

Eventually he speaks up. “You don’t have work?” 

His dad lowers the volume and looks over at him. “No. I told them something had come up with you and I would need the next few days off.” 

He swallows, feeling touched. His dad rarely ever takes time off of work. “Oh.” 

He falls silent for awhile, and after a few moments his dad turns his attention back to the TV. Yamato can’t focus on it. His mind is full of images. Of the live, and the party. Of being surrounded by fans flirting with him. 

Of the one guy in particular. Yamato doesn't know him, but he recognises him from past lives, past parties. He’s constantly flirting with him, smiling at him, finding reasons to casually touch him and let them linger just long enough. Yamato likes it. The guy has brilliant green eyes, and he feels mesmerised by them. 

He likes them a lot less when those eyes are staring piercingly into his face while his weight pins Yamato into the bed, hurting him. 

He shudders. “I knew him,” he says softly. 

His dad mutes the TV, shifting slightly to face him again. “Who?” 

“The guy who hurt me... I knew him. Sort of.” He swallows hard. “I don’t know his name, or who he really is, but he’s gone to most of the band’s lives.” 

“That’s where this happened?” 

He lifts a shoulder briefly, lets it drop. “Our last live. At the party Ny held afterwards. I was with a group of fans. He kept flirting with me.” 

“I’m sorry, Yamato.” 

He doesn’t like the sorrow in his dad’s voice. He doesn’t like hurting his dad in any way. “It’s hard to eat because it—it reminds me. Of what he did. That’s why I throw up a lot. I’m sorry.” 

His dad shakes his head slowly. “Don’t be sorry... you have nothing to be sorry for. None of this is your fault.” 

He shivers and wraps his arms around his too-thin frame. Everyone has told him that what happened to him is not his fault... but he can’t help but feeling like it was. If he hadn’t gotten drunk, if he had tried harder to fight, or had thought to scream for help maybe... He sighs. 

Even though he’s fallen quiet again, his dad doesn’t go back to the TV, instead watching him for a bit, clearly worried. He doesn’t know what he can say that would be reassuring. He’s not okay right now, and his dad knows it. He remembers the email Mimi had sent him, with the links he’d never looked at. 

Abruptly, he stands. “I’m gonna be in my room,” he says. He doesn’t wait for a response, just heads out of the room, through the kitchen, and down the hall. He doesn’t look back, but he can feel his dad’s eyes on him, following him until he’s out of sight. 

* * *

He spends an hour looking through all of the sites Mimi had sent him, reading through all of the information. There’s a lot to take in. Many of the sites tell him not to blame himself. He’s not sure he believes them anymore than he believes his friends and family. 

They also say the way he’s been acting the past few months is normal. He finds that equally hard to believe. He doesn’t _feel_ normal. 

Once he’s looked through as many sites as he can handle at the moment, he goes back to his web board. He’s still been using it fairly regularly, keeping people updated with the things going on in his life and making friends with some of the people there. He talks to Alex almost daily. 

Despite that, he still hasn’t told anyone there what happened to him. 

He loads up his thread and clicks the button to add a new post to it. 

* * *

_So... it is finally out._

_Yesterday the girl who tried to ask me out before approached me in the hall during lunch time and kissed me. She did not ask, did not say anything, just pushed me against the wall and held me there and kissed me._

_I froze up at first, but after a moment I pushed her away and ran to the restroom. I sat on the floor crying until my best friend came in and found me. He told me that he would listen if I wanted to talk. I kept thinking about how badly I wanted to tell him, and how everyone here has been encouraging me, and how I told my friend who lives in another country through an email and she did not react badly..._

_I was not able to say the words directly but I started talking. Part of the way through, before I had really gotten in to it, my teacher came in. He was probably just looking for me and my best friend, since we were not in class like we should have been, but he stopped and listened. I knew he was, and I knew he would have to report it to the school who would tell my dad, but I did not care. I did not want to keep it a secret. Not anymore._

_I was crying the whole time I talked. It was really hard to talk about it at first, but once I started, it felt like I could not stop, and I had to keep talking until I had said everything. My best friend sounded both horrified and sad... My teacher did not say much, but when he told me he would have to report it, he sounded very serious and he also seemed a bit sad. He is my favourite teacher, he has always been very nice to me._

_Eventually they took me to the nurse office, told me they had called my dad, asked if it had happened on school grounds and if I needed anything... I just shook my head and waited until my dad came. He did not know what was going on at first but the principal took him away and told him and when he came back he looked almost like he was grieving... it hurt me to see my dad so hurt. We talked a tiny bit and then he took me home and I went to bed and slept until this morning._

_So I have mentioned before that I am in a band with three other guys... We are on an indie label right now and still trying to gain popularity. We put on lives sometimes and usually our “leader” of the band throws a party afterwards at his house. His parents are pretty rich and they have a large yard with a small guest house and that is where the parties are held._

_A few months ago, we had a live and our usual party afterwards. I was with a group of fans that were all flirting with me, girls and guys, and I got drunk. More than I meant to. There was a guy that was flirting with me more than the others, and I flirted back because I just liked the attention._

_I got up to find the bathroom and he followed me. Only I did not realise it until I was in the house, in the bedroom and he was locking the door behind me. Even after he pinned me to the bed, I did not realise what he intended to do until he touched me and tried to take my jeans off._

_I tried to fight him off, but I was really drunk. And when I bit down on his fingers after he shoved them in my mouth, he hit me really hard in the head and things felt weird after that._

_I have never been able to say this word before, aloud, online, or in my head. But... that Thursday night, he... he raped me. It hurt, very badly. Once he left I pulled my jeans back on and went into the bathroom to throw up. My bandmate found me and thought I was just hung over. He took me into his main house and gave me a room for the night. I went home the next morning and showered and did not tell anyone and blanked it out for three days. Then hearing the word on the news made it come back. But I was too ashamed to tell anyone then, and then I kept getting worse and worse and I wanted to tell my best friend but did not know how to by then._

_But now he knows, and my dad too..._

_I do not know what is next for me. I hope that they can help me, and that one day eventually things can start getting better. But we will see._

_And do not worry, I will still keep you guys updated. So many of you have helped me a lot, and been so nice and encouraging even when you have your own struggles and problems to deal with. I really appreciate all of you._

* * *

He posts his message and then shuts the computer down, not wanting to stick around and wait for replies. His stomach flutters nervously, knowing that he’s posted the truth for everyone there finally. And that he actually said the word. 

Or at least typed it. He’s not sure if he’s able to say it out loud yet. 

He glances at his partially open door nervously. He can hear the television blaring from the living room, so his dad probably can’t hear him. He doesn’t know if he _wants_ to say it. 

He feels like he should. 

Taking a deep breath, he steels himself. “I...” 

Like every time before, the words catch. He’s not ready. Saying it out loud makes it too real somehow. 

“I’m fine,” he whispers instead. He wishes he could believe it. 

* * *

Lunch comes and goes. He eats very little. His dad frowns, but doesn’t push it. 

After, his dad remains seated at the kitchen table and reads the newspaper. He stays as well, idly tracing the grains in the wood with his finger. 

There had been one other thing all of the sites he’d looked through had mentioned: the best chance of being able to heal and move on was through therapy, whether with an individual therapist or going to group therapy with others who’d been through similar experiences. 

Mimi had sent him a link for a group therapy, for boys ages 12-18 that had been... had been through stuff like him. The page said he wouldn’t be forced to talk. He could just go and listen and if he felt like talking, then he was welcome to. 

Perhaps most surprising had been the name listed at the bottom of the page to contact for more information... It had been his teacher’s name, the one who’d found him and Taichi yesterday. His teacher who had apparently been a licensed therapist for ten years before switching over to mostly teaching, according to the small blurb on the site. 

He doesn’t know if therapy will help him or not. He doesn’t know if he can sit in a circle of strangers, telling them about the most horrible thing that ever happened to him. He doesn’t know if he can listen to their equally horrible tales, commiserating and offering support. 

However, he does know one thing. 

He’s not okay. 

“Dad?” 

“Hmm?” His dad lowers the paper and looks over at him. 

He licks suddenly dry lips. “I’m not fine.” 

His dad looks sad at the reminder. “I know, Yamato... I knew that since the very first weekend. I just didn’t know _why_.” 

“There’s... there’s a group. Mimi sent me the link. I want to go.” 

* * *

“Are you going to be okay?” 

He shrugs. He doesn’t answer. He’s afraid if he opens his mouth, he’ll throw up. He feels incredibly nervous, and he can’t stop second-guessing himself. 

He’d contacted his teacher once he’d gone back to school, seeking him out in his office at the end of the day. 

“I’d like to join your group,” he’d said, and understanding had lit his teacher’s eyes immediately. 

He’d gone home with a sheaf of papers and a head full of confusing explanations, and his dad had helped him sort everything out. 

He looks at the small office building before him. It’s very nondescript. Right now that suits him just fine. Anyone who might ever see him entering or leaving would never guess why he’s here. 

“Yamato?” his dad persists. 

He swallows the lump in his throat and speaks. “I’ll be fine.” 

“Okay. I’ll be back in an hour to pick you up, alright?” 

He nods, and then opens the door and slides out of the car. He waves to his dad as he pulls away, and then takes a deep breath and goes in the building. 

After getting directions from a receptionist, he easily finds the correct room. His teacher is already there, along with five other boys so far. A couple look to be about his age, the others younger. They’re all seated in chairs arranged in a loose circle, chatting softly amongst themselves. 

His teacher looks up when he enters and smiles. “Welcome!” he says. “Glad you could join us!” 

He’s trembling, ever so slightly. He doesn’t know if he can do this. He doesn’t know if he can ever talk about it. He’s spent the last two weeks before his first meeting trying to say the truth out loud. He still can’t get further than “I.” 

He grabs one of the folded up seats against the wall and carries it over to the circle. The two boys his age shift their chairs to make room in between them. 

“Hi, I’m Kousuke,” one of them says to him, smiling warmly. 

“I’m Daichi!” the other boy offers with a grin. 

“Yamato,” he says. His face feels flushed. He hopes he doesn’t get sick. 

“Nervous?” Kousuke asks knowingly. “Don’t worry, the first meeting is always the hardest. Because you don’t know what to expect. It’ll get easier.” 

“Yeah,” Daichi chimes in. “You may think now that you’ll never be able to talk in front of all these strangers, but trust me, you’ll be talking before you know it, and you’ll already find yourself wanting to before you even do.” 

Yamato gives them a sickly sort of smile, but doesn’t answer. They both grin at him this time, having a pretty good idea of how he’s feeling right now. 

Once three more boys come in, his teacher claps his hands for attention. “Okay, we’re all here, so let’s get started. We’ve got two new boys with us today. Please introduce yourselves and, if you’d like, tell us anything you’d think we’d want or need to know.” He nods to Yamato first. 

He looks around the circle at the faces of the boys. Eight other boys. Boys like him, who were just teenagers, boys who’d likely once been innocent and happy before something awful shattered them enough to seek therapy just to piece themselves back together. 

They’ll understand. They won’t hate him, or blame him, or think he’s disgusting or weak or worthless. They’ll get it, because they’ve all felt the same way. 

He can do this. 

He straightens up in his seat. Takes a breath. Speaks. “Hi. I’m Yamato. I’m sixteen. I’m here because about three and a half months ago, at a party after my band’s live, I was raped.” 

He’s finally said it. It’s as real as it ever will be. He was high on adrenaline and flush with alcohol that Thursday night and he was raped. It happened. There’s no taking it back or pretending it wasn’t real. He was raped and it’s been the worst thing he’s ever had happen, but he survived. He’s here now. 

He’s not fine, but for the first time, he thinks he eventually might be.

**Author's Note:**

> The web board I have Yamato using is meant to be based on a real one I myself used in the early 2000s, called BUS (Bodies Under Siege), for those who self-harm and those who support them. It helped me immensely. I even had a friend like Alex (not his real name), though his story was nothing like the Alex in this story—I made that up entirely.
> 
> Also, I've had a few requests for a sequel or continuation, and though I've toyed with the idea, ultimately, I think I'll leave it at this rather than go through his recovery. Besides, if I continue it will likely end up Mimato, and as much as I love that pairing I'm not sure I could do it justice.


End file.
